Lady Love
by Walkinthegarden
Summary: The Lady loved him, loved him in a way no one else had. She looked at him and didn't see someone that should never have been born but a sweet little child that had been unloved and looked down upon. She made him worth something, treated him like a Lord. She was the mother he had never known, but all good things must come to an end.


Jon hated it when families from other regions came to visit Winterfell. His father would insist he join the family's table despite his name, unless the guest was a Tully or a Lannister. The guests would whisper about him and Lady Stark would cast him disapproving glances from across the table before tending to baby Arya and young Bran. It was truly a miserable affair the whole while and he'd count the hours till their departure. However this family was different, House Tyrell from The Reach was not like other families. Roselle Tyrell, a beauty with pretty platinum hair, sapphire blue eyes, and pale white skin, was the apple of Lord Mace Tyrell's eye. He doted on her far more then was healthy, but Jon would never complain as she was known to hold a soft spot in her heart for bastards.

He remembered the first time he met her, a beauty against the sun, already at odds with Lady Stark when he arrived. The minute he entered the room, they'd all fallen silent. He'd been eight years old, with his older brother only a few paces behind him. She'd been visibly tired, but none the less had swept past his brother's mother to him. She'd fallen to her knees before him so they stood at barely equal height.

"Hello my dear, you must be Jon," she'd told him affectionately. "I am Lady Roselle of House Tyrell, Lord Mace Tyrell's niece."

He'd looked at her suspiciously, as no one like her had ever spared him a glance.

She'd taken him to the village and he'd found himself having much fun. She doted on him the whole way, purchasing a small sweet cake for them to share and a toy sword for him to play with. With each set of narrowed eyes that came his way for being the bastard son, she'd place her arm across his shoulders like a mother protecting her child.

That night she'd tucked him into his bed, whispering words of love and affection. She didn't leave him till his eyes had permanently closed for the night.

He had been so heartbroken when she left nearly a week later, but she left him with the promise to return and a present which he was not to open till she had gone. He remembered how her horse had barely kicked the dust of the gate before he tore the fabric from the object. He was startled to find a beautiful porcelain doll decorated in flowers and clothed with silk. Underneath the doll was a note.

_Lady Stark need not despise you. Give her no reason, though I know you will not. Give this doll to young Sansa on her name day, for it is coming soon. I promise I will return before you have a chance to miss me._

_With much love to you,_

_Roselle _

"You're wrong, I already miss you," he'd said.

True to her word however, she returned not much later. Five months passed and it was his ninth name day. He waited for her in the yard, eager to see her after so long. When he heard the trumpets announcing her arrival he stepped back and waited patiently. She rode in on a beautiful white pure breed stallion, her hair twisted up elegantly with a few fallen tendrils and a lavish orange/red gown that had no business in the north. She rode straight past him as she had done on their last meeting, circling her horse around to bring him to a stop. Without waiting for the stable boy's assistance she dismounted her beast and ran to him, falling to her knees and taking his hands. With a large smile she kissed each hand before returning her gaze to him.

"Jon, my son, are you well?" she asked him sweetly. He nodded, his heart swelling with her affection for no one, not even his father, had ever called him son. "Good to hear. I have brought you back many wonderful presents from my travels, shall we open them after the evening meal?"

"Yes, thank you."

"Your welcome child, come now, let us see if we can sneak away to the library before dinner." She took his small hand in her own and led him down the dark halls to the large room that was rarely entered. Once they were safely behind closed doors she let go of him, gliding off to the rows of scrolls and books, as if looking for one in particular. "Ah, here it is. This," she showed him a small book no bigger then a luncheon plate, "was my favorite story as a small girl, Lady Love. It is the tale of a young maiden who is taken by a monster into the deepest venues of the world. Her father, a magnificent Lord, offers marriage to the young man that saves her. A boy, terrified of the forest, begs his father to allow him to go. He is granted permission and he saves the young maiden and becomes the Prince of the Lands. My mother never approved of this story," she glanced down at the book affectionately, "as most mothers do not I suppose. Do you know why Jon?"

"No," he said quietly, remembering how Lady Stark was always quite angry with him when he didn't know the answer and he didn't want to disappoint the only woman that treated him with any kindness.

"Quite alright young Jon, I would not expect you too," she assured him, taking a seat in the comfortable chair that Sansa so loved. "Come, sit on my lap." He blinked a few times at her statement; no one had ever allowed him to sit in their lap, at their feet, yes, to their side, yes, but their lap? Never. He quickly climbed up and settled himself, suddenly very nervous that he weighted too much, but if he did, Roselle did not mention it. "This story is about a bastard, like yourself. Do you know the significance of that?" her voice was kind and sweet, not at all mocking or angry.

"Stories are never made with bastards as the heroes," he replied.

"Correct, you are a smart little boy." She smiled sweetly. "Would you like me to read to you?"

"Yes please," he answered excitedly. The only person that had ever read to him was his child handmaiden and she had had no desire to be his servant, doing all in her power to be relieved of her duty of him and to care for one of the important children instead.

"We have read the entire book. Did you like it?" Roselle asked as she closed the book.

"Very much Lady Roselle," he replied.

"Do not address me so formally my child. As you have none, I will do what I can to give you a mother's love. Now come, let's go to the dining hall to supper." She took his hand once again and the two walked slowly to the dining hall. When they entered, Catelyn's eyes were hard and angry, making Jon unconsciously hide behind Roselle's skirt. His beautiful Lady was not discouraged however, as she led them towards Lady Stark with her head held high.

"I apologize for our tardiness my Lady, I was in the library with young Jon and must have forgotten the time," Roselle stated firmly, leaving no room for criticism. Lady Stark huffed angrily as she rounded to her side of the table. "Come little Jon, sit by my side."

Jon did as he was told, careful to avoid eye contact with his brother's Lady mother. The meal tasted better then it normally did, but that was not all. Roselle paid the others around the table little attention, instead doting on him the way Lady Stark did Bran and young Arya. She swept her fingers over his hair lovingly and held him to her side as the meal came to an end and the occupants fell into conversation.

"I think it time the children went to bed," Catelyn announced as the evening dragged on.

"By of course, it is late. Lady Stark, would you be so kind as to allow me a room near young Jon?" Roselle asked, her voice low and unobtrusive, yet clear it was not a question more then it was a command.

"Lady Roselle, the rooms in that corridor are much colder then those of the main hall," Lady Stark recanted, her lips pressed together firmly.

"I see, well then Jon shan't be in the cold. He shall share my bed, is that not common practice on the coldest of nights?" Roselle asked innocently.

Jon and the others watched as the two woman stared each other down. The hatred was heavy in the air and neither family was willing to step in. Of course Roselle won, as she always did. Lord Mace adored that girl as if she was his own child and many of the crops that came to Winterfell came from The Reach, making the alliance between houses invaluable.

"I suppose…"

"Excellent! We will be going off to bed now. Come my son, we will fetch your bedclothes." Once again she took his hand and allowed him to lead her from the room. They stopped at his room for a moment to grab his clothes before proceeding to Roselle's guest chambers.

Jon quite liked the way the Tyrell servants had decorated his Lady's room. Magnificent green and yellow silk tapestries covered the cold stone walls, a large green chest with golden embroidery was at the foot of the bed with the Tyrell family crest engraved in the top; the tables held blue glass vases that overflowed with pretty flowers he had never before seen, and her bed was decorated in a dark green arrangement of blankets with golden designs of barely distinguishable flowers. With a smile over her shoulder to him she walked behind a partition with two maids while another two led him behind another. Leaving his bedclothes untouched they dressed him in golden silk cloth with the insides lined with rabbit fur to keep him warm.

"Do you like your first present?" Lady Roselle asked as he stepped out into the warm room. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted a woman kneeling by the fire, feeding it wood.

"Very much… flower," he replied, uncomfortable with the name he'd given her. Robb called Sansa pup and his father called Bran spirit, so would his Lady not be flower? She was his flower.

"Flower? I find it fitting, I quite like it." She gave him a wide smile. He observed her dress, so different from Lady Stark. The one time he'd seen Lady Stark's nightdress it had been a pale blue and quite worn. Roselle's nightdress, however, was a new lime green made of silk like his own and had no sleeves. She had a glass goblet of red wine in her hand that made her look all the more noble. "Are you ready for your second gift my little wolf?"

He nodded eagerly despite himself and she chuckled lightly before placing her goblet on a table and kneeling down before the large chest. She opened it and removed a package wrapped in brown paper. It was large and flat in her hand as she handed it to him. He took it from her and placed it in his lap.

"The minute I saw it, I knew you had to have it," she told him, studying him for a reaction.

When he pulled back the paper he was shocked to see a beautiful painting of a white direwolf, standing tall on a mountain. "It is beautiful."

"It is titled Ghost," she told him, sitting next to him on the bed.

"Thank you my flower."

"You are welcome my wolf."

She gave him many more presents that night, every toy a little boy could possibly want and much more. She took him along with her on many trips. He saw magnificent places from the inner gardens of the palace of King Robert to the streets of Qarth. She'd read to him, played with him, sang to him, prayed with him, and most importantly of all, she'd loved him. She'd come to him every year or send for him to visit her. She'd promised him life away from the Wall, to instead be by her side in The Reach with her family, where he was treated like a royal prince instead of a bastard; but all good things must come to an end. She died the year he turned eighteen, murdered by man who disapproved of her love for bastards. He retreated to the Wall only a fortnight after he heard the news. Lord Mace, devastated by her death had traveled to see him at the Wall to offer Jon a place in his house even without her. The grieving man had confided in the watcher that he'd always loved Roselle the most as she was the kindest of all his children though he shared no blood with her.

It was then that Jon understood his Lady's love for him, she'd seen what could have been. She was a bastard herself, fathered by a man that was not her mother's husband and Lord Mace's brother, and yet her mother's husband cared not for her paternity and had loved her as if she were his own.

Jon rejected Lord Mace's request to return with him to his castle. Lord Mace seemed to understand as he left with no argument. Jon knew he could never return to her castle, constructed of white marble and filled with flowers and green and yellow tapestries. There was too much of her in those halls, to much for him to ever return.

Years passed and the war was fought and won, not without casualties. All the Starks were deceased except Sansa and even she had been rumored to have become cold and hateful. King Tommen sat on the Iron Throne ruling over his people with an iron fist while still remaining merciful with his lovely wife Margaery at his side. Jon was now the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, training his men to be all they can.

As he sat in his bed, his body no longer what it once was, he picked up the only book in his room. It was small in size, barely bigger then his hand, but he treasured it far more then any gold or coin. Sometimes he'd read it to his men, on the coldest of nights when they gathered in the center most room for the most warmth. Those nights they'd go to sleep on the hard stone floors with bellies full of grain and dreams behind their eyes.

Jon lay down to bed, far more tired then he had been in a long time. He set the book to the side and rolled over to dream about his own Lady Love.


End file.
